


Second Verse, Same As The First

by Medie



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As capable as he's turning out to be, she's still surprised to discover there's a brain beneath that hair. And how <i>does</i> it stand up like that? Super glue?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://kashmir1.livejournal.com/profile)[**kashmir1**](http://kashmir1.livejournal.com/) for [](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/profile)[**oxoniensis**](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/)'s Free For All who asked for a genderbender. It's still a WIP, but the 'deadline' is next week and I wanted to get this cranking before I ran out of time.

"Your middle name is _Rodney_?"

Meredith scrunches her nose, looks up from her calculations, and watches the slow grin spread across Major Sheppard's face. "Yes, as a matter of fact, Rodney is my middle name."

He nods. She goes back to her calculations, hoping against all rational thought that he'll take the hint and leave. He doesn't, of course. She knows better than that. A number of things have become abundantly clear over the months they've been in Atlantis. Some she can circumvent, some she can ignore, but there are a stubborn few which she can only live with. John Sheppard's attention span is chief atop that list.

He's bored. They've had no reports from the Wraith in a few days. Power is good. Elizabeth's begun working out deals with Teyla's people and is having the time of her life. It all conspires to mean, for the most part, the team has been on downtime.

Meredith's been enjoying it. No danger to life and limb (always a plus as she's so fond of hers) and she gets to catch up on some much needed research. She's already tried suggesting that the Major do the same. Of course, in his case, she meant work, but, well – that's proving difficult.

Along with a disconcertingly short attention span, Major John Sheppard is deathly allergic to paperwork. She thinks of his office, of its current state, and cringes. The man needs an assistant, or a keeper. His gravity defying hair aside (something she is absolutely convinced violates the laws of physics) she's not particularly interested in being either one.

And yet...

Meredith puts down her pen. "You've been reading my file." She sounds defensive, even to her own ears, and she is. John has the right to read the service files of anyone on the mission, particularly her. He's the de facto military commander. She's on his team. He has the right to know everything about her history.

And isn't that the most horrifying thought of the day?

"Just the good parts," says John. He grabs a stool, sitting across the counter from her and rests his chin on his forearms. When he looks at her, there's something calculating in his gaze. It's like he's trying to decipher her component parts, sort the ins and the outs of her, and she hates it.

It makes her uncomfortable and it takes effort not to squirm or look away.

Lifting her chin, Meredith stares back, hoping for a placid expression. She knows, however, it's more likely that she looks constipated. She's always been a terrible liar.

After a moment, he raises his eyebrows briefly and smiles. It's an 'aw, shucks, who me?' sort of expression. She wonders how many women have fallen for that look. Too many, she decides with an inward harrumph. She's never understood women who fall for the sort of man sitting before her. She's never found anything attractive or desirable about the charming rogue. While the rest of her acquaintances – Meredith's never had much use for 'girlfriends' – were falling all over them, she's been quite happy to go on ignored.

Sitting here, she's quite sure it's the smartest thing she ever did. John Sheppard's living proof that her hypothesis was quite sound.

He tips his head, staring at her again and she realizes the moment is stretching out. "The good parts?" The question stammers its way out of her and Meredith instantly regrets it. She's never been particularly good at this and Sheppard? Sheppard is nothing but. All that practice after all.

Yes, it's a catty thought, but it's also _true_. Not to mention somewhat depressing. This isn't a level playing field, she's hopelessly out-gunned and she wants to run. Her legs tense, eager to take flight and rush from the room.

"Uh huh. Like the part where you've got a guy's name." There's laughter in his voice. She quells the urge to kick him beneath the table, reminding herself Elizabeth wouldn't like it. Even if he does _deserve_ it. Which he does. A lot. "You've got to admit, McKay, it is pretty damn good."

Meredith pinches the bridge of her nose, reminding herself that this _is_ a better assignment than Russia. Really. It is. Disastrous start aside, Atlantis is everything she might have hoped for and then some. It's just -- it isn't _fair_. This isn't. Atlantis is supposed to be _her_ chance. She's never had the upper hand, really, not in anything but her field. Not even then if the SGC and Sam Carter is involved.

It's not fair, but she won't say that. Whatever else has happened, she still has her pride.

"I fail to see what the issue of my name has to do with anything. Particularly not anything regarding my capabilities and how they relate to this mission." Which, she was quite sure, far exceeded the Major's.

"Of course not," says Sheppard. "This may come as a surprise, Doctor, but not everything has to do with the job."

This time, she doesn't stop the snort. "And I know this may come as a surprise to you, _Major_, but some of us? We find actual enjoyment and satisfaction in our careers." While his file is, as of that moment, off limits - officially, at least, she can 'rectify' that later – to her, Meredith has done her homework.

Stargate Command is, if nothing else, shockingly efficient in its distribution of gossip. A skill that many transferred personnel have brought with them. She knows just enough about John Sheppard to be sure she isn't sure she wants to know the rest.

Tapping her stylus against the counter top, she scowls at him. "Work. Not the sealed records of our colleagues."

He smiles, it's lazy and a touch mocking. "Reviewing those records _is_ work. I need to know about the people under my command."

It's patronizing as hell and sets her teeth on edge. The urge to kick him is bordering on the level of nearly irresistible. She hopes that Elizabeth can forgive her impending lack of judgment. Although, it's not as if Sheppard actually _is_ her superior.

"Well, there's your problem," she bites out. "I'm not. If you hadn't noticed, Major, I have a rather large number of scientists under _my_ command." As the senior scientist on this expedition, she actually does. Her people outnumber his considerably, even if half of them despise her, and that counts for something. Not much, considering the aforementioned hate, but something.

Meredith is fully aware of how they view her. She might not be particularly interested in their comments, but she's certainly heard them.

"As long as you're on my team," says Sheppard, "you're under my command." He looks oddly stubborn about it and she shouldn't be excited by that. She _shouldn't_. "We should probably work on making that clearer. I wouldn't want anything 'unfortunate' happening out there. Not like we can pick up a new you at Geeks 'R' Us."

It's a joke, but it's not meant to be funny. She's made him angry. The conversation is sliding out of her control, but Meredith doesn't care at the moment. She's done this before. She's had this conversation before and she's really fucking tired of it. Riding the bitter contrariness rises up and she blurts, "For as long as that lasts at any rate."

"I beg your pardon?" He's sitting up straight now, staring at her with an expression of disbelief. "You want off the team?" He seems truly perplexed, astonished really, and Meredith almost regrets her comment, actually starts to doubt the certainty of her belief. It never works. She always ends up shuffled off, out of the way, with her notes and her theories.

The eternal problem child.

She's tempted to admit it, to say so, but that temptation dies quickly. About as long as it takes for Sheppard to make the wrong connection and then she truly does. His face shuts down and Meredith's stomach sinks with it. Oh god. "You think Elizabeth is going to pull me."

"No," says Meredith, feeling bleak. "She wouldn't." She clutches her stylus tighter, desperate to try and regain the ground she's losing by the second without any idea of just how to do so. She should probably tell him the truth. It's what people would do in this situation, she's sure of it. She should say something emotionally revealing, tell him the truth about herself, fill in the bare bones of what her service record states. All the transfers, the complaints, not to mention the sudden transfer to the other side of the planet.

She's surprised, though, he hasn't figured that one out for himself. They're both children of the Cold War era. If she knows what kind of security risk it was to ship her to the _Russians_ with everything she knows about the US and Canadian militaries, then Major Sheppard certainly ought to.

Bitterness aside, she does want to tell him the truth. He's not a part of the melodrama that's become her life, he doesn't deserve that look in his eyes.

It isn't what she says. The best Meredith can come up with is, "You've proven yourself. The inexperience -- It doesn't matter."

"You seem to think it does," says Sheppard.

"I thought it might." Meredith shrugs. It's not precisely the truth. She had her doubts about John Sheppard from the moment Carson nearly blew the man to hell. Even more when she actually saw him (and that hair) and more still when Sumner died.

She still thinks she's justified about that. As capable as he's turning out to be, she's still surprised to discover there's a brain beneath that hair.

And how _does_ it stand up like that? Super glue?

"I was -- " she clears her throat, closing her eyes to choke out, "I made a mistake and if you know anything about me, Major, you should know that is not an admission I make very often. Ever, really. Take it for what it's worth and leave it there."

She's not sure what's more surprising. The fact that she actually said it or the fact that he does.

When Meredith opens her eyes, Sheppard is gone.


	2. Second Verse, Same As The First -2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't as if he can just ship her to Russia, therefore it must be handled delicately.

Meredith holds her breath for three days after that. Not literally, of course, just the figurative walking-on-eggshells one does after a major faux pas.

Ill-suited to such concerns, it's the longest three days of her life. The first few hours crawl by like years as she waits for the news to arrive. When it doesn't, she suspects he's taking the day to think it over, find a way to make the decision gracefully. It isn't as if he can just ship her to Russia, therefore it must be handled delicately.

Which, she then decides, means he's discussing it with Elizabeth. Meredith remembers that meeting. The strategy for dealing with personality conflicts three galaxies away from any potential help. She and Sumner had dismissed Elizabeth's concerns.

The irony does not escape Meredith's notice.

In all likelihood, she'll just be reassigned. Possibly remove herself from fieldwork. Elizabeth will invite her to dinner, they'll drink some of the wine Elizabeth smuggled in with her, they'll bond and then Elizabeth will suggest it. She'll be regretful, but convincing. Sheppard will be no where in sight.

He's not one for awkward confrontations. He's been avoiding her for days. He won't be able to look her in the eye and throw her off his team.

No, asking Elizabeth to handle it is the best option. Best for them both. Elizabeth's good enough to make Meredith believe it's her own idea. She's halfway there already. As the senior scientist on this mission, the idea of her venturing into the field is ludicrous at best. Sam always said she didn't have a 'feel' for these things and Meredith's beginning to wonder if she might be right.

She doesn't belong in the field. She lives for her theories. She belongs with them, in a lab, with a laptop. She has no business running across alien planets, clutching a gun she can barely aim and praying she won't blow someone's head off by mistake.

It isn't as if they're short on replacement candidates. She's even weeded a few potentials from the masses. The little Czech, Zelenka, she needs in the lab. He has the natural aptitude that she lacks, but there are others. All of which, she's sure, would make a much better fit on Sheppard's team than she does.

Yes, it's the best possible outcome for all concerned. Not that it makes anything better. The guilt about her misstep hasn't gone anywhere. It's not even the slightest bit swayed by the pile of resumes on her desk.

This used to be something she was proud of, irrational as it might seem. She's saved herself the misery of a thousand slowly dying friendships with a few well-placed words. Easier. Safer. Almost like pulling off a band aid.

It hurts less. At least, it's supposed to. She can't understand why it isn't working this time.

-

"You're kind of a bitch, you know that, right?"

Surprised by the unexpected voice crackling her ear, Meredith jumps with a yelp. The reward for her reaction is a stinging smack against the back of her head.

Ouch.

The headset is taking some getting used to. It's bad enough it makes her ear sore, but the constant interruptions are maddening. If she were anyone else, it would be a minor miracle that she gets any work done at all.

When Sheppard is involved, of course, it's no minor miracle. No, in that case, even with her presence, it is a major one.

Meredith sits back, folding her legs as she glares balefully at the escaped stylus. She should just glue the damn thing to her hand -- "McKay?"

Sheppard's voice, this time, is almost hesitant. It's a complete switch around and it makes her head spin. It's the first thing he's said to her in three days, outside of noncommittal grunts in briefings, purely for Elizabeth's benefit. It's ridiculous how she reacts. She should be furious. She should be taking his head off. No one talks to her like that and gets away with it.

Yet her heart beats faster, her mouth goes dry, and her hand moves, hovering with indecision against the headset. It could be an emergency, her mind whirls with all the possibilities, but she knows that it's not.

She also knows it's not what she wants it to be. Meredith's been waiting for this and she has to give him credit. At least he didn't have Elizabeth do it.

Gathering up her dignity, clinging to it like a stuffed toy, Meredith responds, "I'm here, Major, and, to answer your question, yes, I am perfectly aware." She goes to her knees, finally clasping the stylus in her hand. "Thank you for the attempt at a reminder, however."

She's not prepared for the sound of her own voice. She sounds almost – hurt. Odd. It isn't as if he hasn't told her anything that she didn't already know. He might as well have told her the sky is blue. "Is there anything else we can clarify before we finish this?"

He sighs, the sound in her ear raising goose flesh and sending a shiver through her. This is the part she hates about these headsets. Well, one part. The complete lack of privacy is an irritation, but the odd sense of intimacy is another. She can almost feel his body's heat pressing against hers.

Her cheeks warm and she clutches the stylus tighter.

"Look, McKay, I -- " he hesitates. "I didn't mean – that is, I didn't intend on -- "

"Please, Major," says Meredith, her nerves pushing a biting edge into her voice. She doesn't mean to sound so derisive, but she clings to it anyway. It's familiar and safe and, cowardice or not, she needs it right now. "We both know that you did. It's fine. It's hardly as if it's some great revelation at any rate. I'm well aware of the effect I have on some. Now, as to the matter of my replacement, there are a number of possibilities. Some of them don't have much in the way of field experience, but then, let's be honest, I didn't either and -- "

"Hang on, what?" asks Sheppard, incredulous. "McKay, what the hell are you talking about?"

The surprise is so genuine that Meredith doesn't quite know what to say next. Instead, she's left stammering, "Well, I – I thought -- "

"Oh for fuck's sake, where are you?" Sheppard cuts her off, anger fueling his impatience. She doesn't need to see his face to know he's angry. The peculiar part of it all, though, is that he doesn't really seem angry at _her_.

Not that she can tell. As pedantic as it can be, she's never had much use for psychoanalysis. She's not interested in deciphering the psychological ins and outs of John Sheppard's mind. Not that anyone could. She's beginning to believe he could make Freud cry.

Meredith looks at her desk and the paperwork scattered across it without really seeing any of it. Not the faces in the pictures or the names on the pages. "My office, actual office, not the lab, I needed to -- " She needed to fix this and it's still a wonder that she cares.

"Stay there. I'm coming to you."

He sounds so determined that hope flares. Maybe, just maybe, she was actually wrong. She's never wanted to be before.

Well, just that one time, but Teal'c's life was hanging in the balance then. It's hardly the same thing really. This is just a job and one, all things considered, she probably shouldn't be doing anyway. She's far too important to be wasted in the field, but --

But she can't imagine any other life and isn't that the biggest surprise of it all?

"Major, I -- "

"Don't. _Move_," insists Sheppard. "Don't argue with me. Just sit there and wait. Don't go playing with any Ancient shit either. I swear to God, McKay, I show up there and something's glowing -- "

"I won't." Meredith sits. "I promise."


	3. Second Verse, Same as the First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't as if he can just ship her to Russia, therefore it must be handled delicately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [](http://kashmir1.livejournal.com/profile)[**kashmir1**](http://kashmir1.livejournal.com/) for [](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/profile)[**oxoniensis**](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/)'s Free For All who asked for a girl!Rodney/John.

She actually waits, it's as much a surprise to her as it is to him. She sees the quick flash of it in his eyes when her door slides open and he sees her. In retrospect, she realizes with some chagrin, it would've been more logical to actually return to her _chair_ instead of just waiting, kneeling by her desk.

Sheppard steps inside, letting the door slide shut behind him. He looks at her for a moment, clearly trying to work out what to do next, and she decides to make matters simple for him.

"Before you ask, I dropped this." She waves the stylus at him like a protective talisman, starts to get up.

The man actually tries to help. He actually bends over and offers a hand to help her. It's so unexpected (she's never engendered _chivalry_ as a reaction before) that Meredith pulls away, stylus flying out of her hand again as she promptly loses her balance.

To say that it's absolutely disgusting is to make an understatement of herculean proportions. Particularly when Sheppard, _again_, tries to save her. Damn it. No one tries to save her. She's the one they save people from. She has a track record on two continents, three countries, and an alarming number of military bases and universities. She, Dr. Meredith Rodney McKay, is 'that bitch' and is usually proud of it. Or at least she doesn't hate it.

Just the same, she blames what happens next on the Major. It's all quite logical and, therefore, predictable that like most of Sheppard's plans, it goes terribly awry. Really very terribly awry. With no balance whatsoever, Meredith doesn't stand much of a chance when he loses his.

She's not sure exactly how it happens, but one moment they're flailing in the air, and the next she's facing what, for most, is probably a horrible, humiliating situation.

Of course, as she's not most people, Meredith settles upon aggravation. "While I'm sure, in Major Sheppard-land this passes for chivalry, the rest of the world considers this highly inappropriate." She lifts her head, looking down at the spikey top of Major Sheppard's head. As it's just below her chin, she imagines this would put his face in a part of her anatomy most men find fascinating.

For her part, Meredith again finds herself speculating on just how much hairgel the man must have smuggled with him.

"Uh," says the Major. "Oops?"

It comes out as a muffled vibration against her chest and Meredith huffs a breath. "I'm sorry, Major, but I didn't quite get that."

He starts, pulling back and away, his face flushed a dull red. "I said, uh, oops?" He gets up, offering a hand. "Can we try this again? This isn't really how I wanted to start this conversation."

With the reminder of what he's doing here, she retreats. Refusing to take his hand, she instead gets up and begins the search for her stylus. She's been going through the things at an alarming rate and it's not likely she'll be getting another one anytime soon. "I'm sure it isn't," she says, not turning. "However, I doubt there are any possible ways to begin this conversation which would qualify as the 'optimal' choice."

"I'm thinking one where you look me in the eye would do it." Her stylus in hand, Sheppard steps in front of her. "You think we can try that?"

Meredith doesn't think so, but she drags her gaze to his anyway. "I suppose. I really don't see where it makes any particular difference whether I'm looking at you or not." She's lying, of course. It's one of her current pet theories that eye contact is key in Major Sheppard's charm strategy and, as she has no intentions of being its latest victim, she isn't in a hurry to follow suit.

Nevertheless, she would rather die than admit this so, she continues to look. "Better?"

He sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. It ends up even more wildly than usual. "Not really, no. I'm not good with things like this."

"Like basic conversation? I would have never guessed," Meredith deadpans. "Please tell me this conversation actually has a conclusion as I have a mountain of paperwork to do and -- "

"Why do you want off my team?" Sheppard blurts out the question, then as she gapes at him, he coughs. "I mean, you're looking for a replacement, why would you be looking for a replacement if you didn't want to leave?" He sounds uncomfortable, almost croaking out the question. "I just don't understand it."

She fidgets, stepping back. Again they're on unfamiliar territory and the instinct to flee is almost irresistible. "It seems the most logical solution. I've – never been particularly suited to field work. Even less so to a team environment -- "

"And yet you're here. In Atlantis." Sheppard waves a hand toward the door. "In case you missed it, McKay, this is nothing but a team environment."

Folding her arms, she tries not to grip the stylus tightly. It digs into her forearm and she shifts it, tucking it between her fingers to lie flat against her sleeve. "I'm aware of that, Major, and in that environment, I actually have a key role. On a smaller scale it's more problematic, as evidenced by the difficulties you and I have been having."

She turns away from him, retreating to the safety of her desk and her computer. She puts the stylus down, carefully placing it in a cup, and pulls her computer closer. "To that end, I've been reviewing a number of potential candidates. I'm afraid some of my best people won't be eligible as I need them here but – HEY!"

Meredith pulls back her fingers just in time to avoid nipping them when Sheppard slams the lid shut.

"Do you _mind_?" she asks, outraged. "I'm trying to work here."

"No, you're trying to avoid answering my question," says Sheppard, frowning. "What the hell was all that babble?"

"It _was_ my answer." Meredith frowns. "I was speaking English, Major. If you have some deficiencies in that area, I'm sure Elizabeth can find someone on the expedition to help."

He claps a hand over her mouth, cutting off anything else she might have said. "I understood it perfectly, it just makes shit sense. Why don't you try answering the question instead of tapdancing around it? You afraid of the answer?"

From behind his hand, Meredith quirks a brow at him. She's not quite sure if she manages to convey the full intent of her aggravation, but, by god, she _tries_.

It takes a minute, possibly two, before Sheppard connects the problem. He flushes again and drops his hand. "Sorry."

"Of course you are," she says, acerbic. "As for the rest of it, Major, I am most certainly not _afraid_," she shakes her head. "I'm not accustomed to actually having this conversation. The majority of the time, it's obvious to everyone around me. It's because you're an outsider, of course. Without any history at Stargate Command, unlike a lot of people around here, you miss it."

"What?"

She curves her lips into a wry grin. "People love to hate me. It's actually quite useful at times. It gives them a common adversary, allows team building, I'm sure Dr. Heightmeyer can fill you in on the specifics of the situation, but that would be the gist of it."

Sheppard listens to the statement and then nods. "You know? That's kind of the dumbest thing I've ever heard, McKay." He turns around, heads for her door, then looks back. "We're on schedule for tomorrow morning." He grins. "Don't be late, huh?"

Meredith's mouth drops open in utter astonishment. "I beg your pardon?"

"0800, McKay," is all he says. "You're late and it's the lemonade for you."

She doesn't throw her stylus at him, but she really, really wants to. "That man," she says instead, "is an ass."

It's not nearly as irritating as it should be. Meredith glowers. She hates him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Some day, I am going to have a job wherein I don't behave like a three year old in a time out."

She goes to Elizabeth next. Almost directly after leaving her own office. It's not, ostensibly, to complain. She will, of course, but it's _Elizabeth_. She's the first real friend Meredith's had – at least, since puberty kicked in, leaving her ungainly, two sizes too large, more interested in her books than the football team and that's unfair, but she's not of a mind to be generous where her teen years are concerned – and she's not going to ruin it by complaining about a _man_.

Elizabeth tips a look over her laptop on Meredith's entrance, it's a brief, but assessing glance, and then she goes back to her work. "I take it, Major Sheppard found you?" she says.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Judging by the number of terrified faces in your wake?" she says, amused. "Yes." She sits back, closing the laptop, and Meredith feels like stomping out the door. Elizabeth just smiles and nods at her chair. "Sit down, Meredith. You look like you need it."

"I hate him," Meredith snaps.

"Mm," Elizabeth says, noncommittal. She gets up. There's a small thermos on the table. Meredith's nose twitches with interest when Elizabeth removes the lid. "Yes," Elizabeth says, "It is. Yes, you can have some."

"_Thank you_." Meredith all but pounces on the proffered mug, clutching it like a lifeline. "You realize, we are going to run out of this." It's a horrible, horrible thought that haunts her nightly.

"I brought beans," Elizabeth assures. "I've got people willing to grow them."

"Bribed?"

Elizabeth sits down with her own mug and nods. "Feel free to contribute."

"Whatever you want," Meredith says, feeling uncharacteristically magnanimous. "Just keep the coffee coming." She takes a slow, lingering swallow, like it's the finest of wines. She knows she's supposed to be venting about Major Sheppard, but coffee is _important_.

"I trust you and the Major are working things out," Elizabeth says, damn her pragmatism. "We can't have two department heads bickering like schoolchildren."

"We aren't -- " At a look from Elizabeth, Meredith bites her lip and amends, "Yes, well, all right, we are, but he started it." She cringes at the way that sounds. "Some day, I am going to have a job wherein I don't behave like a three year old in a time out." She's been telling herself that for years, but somehow it just never quite seems to happen. "I warned you about that," she says, looking pointedly at Elizabeth. "I did. I'm horrible with people."

"You did," Elizabeth agrees. "The thing is, Major Sheppard is determined you're going to remain on his team." She's smiling as she says it. "I think he might like you."

"It's the hair gel," Meredith says. "It's rotting his brain. He should probably have Carson take a look at it."

"Or, possibly, he just actually likes you," Elizabeth says, refusing to take the bait. It's not the first time they've had conversations like this and Meredith's still amazed by it. Friends aren't something she comes by easily. Friends willing to put up with her encyclopedic collection of issues even harder. "Play nice with this one, Meredith." She shrugs, grinning. "Besides, it's not as if I can call General O'Neill for a replacement if you break him."

"Ahhh, that's how we're playing this," Meredith mutters into her mug. "For the good of the mission?"

"If you'd like," Elizabeth says. "You can always tell him I made it an order."

"And he'll wonder why I listened," Meredith shrugs. "You've noticed I don't particularly do that well."

"Really?" Elizabeth widens her eyes. "Why Doctor McKay, you must be joking, I can't ever imagine you ignoring me."

"Watch it," Meredith says, "Keep talking like that, I'll choke on my coffee."

"Don't you dare," Elizabeth says, sipping hers. "We can't afford to waste it."

"Well, if I get killed on a mission, you can have my stash," Meredith promises. It's her day for grand gestures it seems. "Zelenka knows where it is." She'll chop off his fingers and feed them to whatever happens to pass for local fish if he so much as sniffs it, but he knows where it is. "You must admit, Elizabeth, with as many allergies as I have, venturing onto an off-planet team is more than a little ill-advised."

"And yet you're still doing it." Elizabeth puts down her mug.

"Apparently," Meredith agrees. "I'm not particularly sure as to why I'm still doing it." She sniffs. "It certainly isn't because _he_ all but ordered me."

"Oh god, no," Elizabeth isn't quite laughing, but Meredith isn't so obtuse as to miss the part where she is loving every second of this. "You don't do anything you don't want to do."

"Of course not," Meredith says. "I am the senior scientist on the expedition. I have far more important things to do than be ordered around by John Sheppard." She's not even sure he has the security clearance to be ordering anyone around --- and that's a thought she's just not going to be having right now. She's gone down that road once this week. Anymore and she'll have to take up permanent resident on Heightmeyer's couch.

Well, as soon as they get her a couch. She really needs to get someone moving on that.

"Fact of the matter is, he needs _someone_ with experience on his team," she says. Neither of them mention the part where, of course, the only one with any active gate experience is Lieutenant Ford. "Otherwise, who knows what he might blunder his way into."

Elizabeth doesn't actually say it, but her smile doesn't offer Meredith the option of forgetting.

To that look Meredith has no reply. She settles for staring into her coffee and trying to pretend the silence doesn't grate over her skin. Silence has always been nails and chalkboards. She bears it, she doesn't glory in it, and she tries not to listen to the parts of her brain that lie in wait for quiet and the freedom it brings.

"I wrote a will," she says. "Funeral arrangements too. Had Zelenka and Miko witness it."

"Something I should know?" Elizabeth asks.

"No, I just -- " Meredith shrugs. "It's just in case." She's reviewed countless mission reports. She knows what goes on out there. Alien robots, duplications, presumed death, and that's not even getting into the really unusual ones. "I've left some recordings as well. Obviously, it's not likely they'll ever actually be viewed, but they're labeled appropriately." There's one for Jeannie, obviously, but there are a few apologies in there too. She's owed more than her fair share over the years and, plus, being dead she gets to take the highroad and there's not a damn thing they can do to one up her.

She made a passable attempt at offering Teal'c one before leaving Earth. Despite what everyone thought, she hadn't actually wanted him dead and she'd been determined to say something to him about it before leaving the galaxy all together. She wasn't sure he'd really cared, but she's said it and that was just going to have to do. There's one for Sam too. She hadn't tried to see her. Even thinking of those days now has her gritting her teeth, tensing, in preparation for a fight that isn't going to happen.

"It just seemed prudent," she says, forcing out the words over the memory of dismissal and disdain. "There are instructions on what to do as well. Mostly," she shrugs. "I owe Jeannie." She's been even less of a sister than she has a responsible adult, but this will have to do. "Not that it particularly matters, most of what I'll accumulate here can't actually be given to anyone without the necessary security clearance."

"She'll get it," Elizabeth says. There's a quiet resolve to her voice, serious, that makes Meredith believe her. "If we ever need to worry about that. Which we won't. Despite everything, I have complete faith in Major Sheppard."

Meredith envies her that. She's never had complete faith in anyone, herself chief among them. "That doesn't guarantee anything," she says, finishing her coffee.

"Of course not," Elizabeth replies. She smiles. "But if you get killed, he gets the last word." The seriousness of before fades back into playful amusement. They both know how well _that_ idea will go over with Meredith.

"I hate you," Meredith growls. "You know I won't be able to stop thinking about that."

Elizabeth gets up to refill her coffee. "All the way through that gate," she agrees. "One for the road?"

Meredith thrusts out the mug. "For that, you should give me the whole damn pot."

"Not a chance," Elizabeth says and Meredith doesn't blame her

It's _coffee_. Some things must never be surrendered.


End file.
